nder of his rags--they stretched his arms
to the utmost above his head and tied his hands together to the top of
the stake. There he was. He heartily wished that he had let horses
alone, but resolved to die manfully.

But they did not burn him. The men, women and children danced around
him, and yelled and hooted and screamed and made faces, switched him
and slapped him, until midnight. They wanted to make the most of him,
so they untied him and hustled him on into the town, for another day's
sport.

The first thing in the morning he saw the scalp of his friend
Montgomery, bound upon a hoop and drying in the sun, before a house.
That was a reminder. The next thing, he was led out, to run the
gauntlet.

The people were waiting, lined up in two rows facing inward. The rows
bristled with clubs, switches, hoe-handles and tomahawks. The two
persons at this end were warriors, holding butcher-knives! They would
initiate him! Gosh! The lines were closed by a man beating a drum.
Back of the man was the council-house.

Simon knew that he was to run between the lines, from the
butcher-knives through the clubs and hoe-handles and tomahawks past the
drum, to the council-house--if he could.

"Not for me," thought Simon. "I'll fool those yaller varmints."

He stood braced, two warriors grasping him. The drum suddenly boomed
with a new note, the warriors shoved him--"Go!" The air trembled with
the expectant clamor. But Simon, a bloody white-skinned giant, veered
aside. He avoided the butcher-knives; he struck for the clear, the
lines broke in furious pursuit, headed him off, he doubled like a
rabbit, doubled again, sighted an open place, felled two Indians with
his fists, headed for the opening, was tackled, stumbled under the
blows, recovered, lunged on, and gasping clutched the post at the
council-house doorway. It was sanctuary.

He was seized none too kindly, wrenched from the post, and with his
arms bound was seated under a guard, outside the council-house, while
the council of chiefs, surrounded by squatting warriors, voted upon
whether to burn him now or later.

The white man came out to bring him the news.

"You are to be taken to Wakatomica."

That was another Shawnee town, about seventy miles north.

"What will they do with me there?" Simon asked.

"Burn you, by thunder," the white man snarled; and swore at him, and
strode away as angrily as any of the red men.

All the Black Fish people, whate